


as it was then

by meminger



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, i'M SAD, it's 2 am, rain is a metaphor for feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meminger/pseuds/meminger
Summary: She wakes up in her bedroom in the TARDIS and it's raining.





	

She wakes up in her bedroom in the TARDIS and it's raining.

This isn't exactly a normal occurrence — the TARDIS generating weather — but it has happened before. Sometimes it's a sympathetic reaction to a certain planet's atmosphere and sometimes it is just... in a mood.

Amy walks down the hallway, looking for the Doctor. He has this freaky soul-connection with his ship — he'll know why this is happening all of the sudden. She's nearly knocked to the ground at a particularly ferocious growl of thunder, and she has it in her to be impressed.

When she was a kid, weather like this always brightened up her days, and she would run around outside of her house, giggling and playing. That was when it always felt best, the beat of the water against her clothes reassuring somehow, the grumbling from the sky seeming conscious and real. Aunt Sharon hated it, clucked her tongue and shook her head, accused her of trying to slip on her skull and catch her death. "That girl," her aunt would say on nights like this to her friends on the phone when she thought Amy wasn't listening, "is a bad omen."

So then she felt bad and stopped liking storms, for a bit.

But she's over that now.

She finds the Doctor leaning against the monitor and staring intently at nothing. He's drenched in water and makes no perceivable movement when she enters the room, which makes Amy dwell on how not-entirely-human he is. She's about to say something about it, actually, before the Doctor opens his mouth.

"It's for you," he says.

Oh. That's not what she— "What?"

"The rainstorms," he moves his finger in a general around direction. "They're for you. To cheer you up." The unspoken sentence is almost tauntingly clear: _because you cried yourself to sleep last night and you don't even know why._ There's always something unsaid under everything the Doctor says, and Amy's gotten better at hearing it, for better or worse. (Usually worse.)

Still, though. "How'd you— or the TARDIS— know _this_ was what I needed?" she presses on. "Maybe I wanted sunshine. Or snow. Or slightly cloudy."

"Oh, that part was easy," he says with scary immediacy. Amy shoots him a concerned look, but he continues. "You were in the library for hours yesterday. I checked back in there and there was a poem on the wall."

_Oh_. Now Amy remembers. "'You Will Hear Thunder'," she says with a small smile, "by Anna Akhmatova."

He's smiling now, too. The water brings out a certain glint in his eyes, not that she's staring. "Brilliant poem, by the way. You have good taste. I read it till it was memorized. _You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms. The rim of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, and your heart, as it was then, will be on fire._ "

She's not aware of walking closer to him, but there is suddenly finger-widths of distance between them. She lets out a small breath and finishes: " _That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I take my leave, and hasten to the heights that I have longed for, leaving my shadow still to be with you_."

By the end of it their mouths are breathing against each others and their fingers are interlaced. There's something meaningful about this. She can't pinpoint exactly what it is and as she listens to the sounds of both of his heartbeats she can't muster the energy to bother.

"Want to find a place that's drier?" he says into her rain-matted hair.

Amy smiles and shakes her head. "Oh, trust me, there's nowhere I want to be besides here."

"Kind of defeats the point of living with a restless alien in a machine that can travel to any point in time and space, then," and Amy laughs high and clear and clenches her fingers around his, tighter.

"You're not going to leave me, are you?" Amy says, suddenly ranging on desperate, nails digging into his flesh and her eyes staring fixedly into his. "I'm never going to just-- _just be a shadow._ "

"Oh, Amelia," his hands are in her hair now, tying his fingers through the wetness, in a movement that could be percieved as gentle if it didn't _hurt so much_. "Please understand. I always... remember... you."

And that's where Amy wakes up, heartbeat like a thunderclap. Rory's snoring next to her comes to a stop and he mumbles, "you 'lright, sweetie?"

"I'm fine," she replies, her voice gruff, alien. (Old.) "Go back to bed."

But instead Rory opens his eyes wider and sits upright, looking through the window at their view of New York City. "Did it rain last night?" he asks.

Amy nods. "It did," she answers, "but now it's stopped."

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't posted fic for this fandom since 2013 i just wanted to infect my sadness onto the world (and by "world" i do mean "any person that still cares about amy pond like i do".
> 
> title from the poem referenced (...obviously.)


End file.
